


mixers, my love

by tigrrmilk



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, in my world killgrave doesn't exist, serial wedding dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigrrmilk/pseuds/tigrrmilk
Summary: “Trish,” Jess says, against her better judgement, because Jessica Jones makes bad decisions. “If you ever need a fake date for a wedding to piss off these losers? Just make sure there’s an open bar and I’m there.”





	mixers, my love

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: a very brief reference to trish's mom, and a fair amount of references to alcohol.

 

Drought was over. Where was I? Drinks were on the house.   
For mixers, my love, you’d poured–what?–even the rain.   
**Agha Shahid Ali, _'Even the Rain'_**

 

 

 

 

 

It starts out with a wedding. Jess has just turned 25, and Trish is getting serious about journalism, and Jess doesn’t know what she wants to do and it hurts when she’s faced with evidence that other people -- Trish -- have things figured out. So she skulks around the neighbourhood at night, takes on surveillance cases for sleazy men, and generally makes a nuisance of herself.

But it’s Sunday morning and Trish has her cornered. She’s made coffee, and toast, and poached eggs. “So,” Trish says, carefully not mentioning that she’s barely seen Jess all week. “I’ve been invited to Ginny’s wedding. It’s in the city, next month.”

“Who’s Ginny,” Jess says, as she pokes at the egg with her fork.

Trish sighs. “My co-star with the curly hair. You had a rude nickname for her.”

Jess inhales half a mug of coffee. “That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Whatever,” Trish says. “I’ve got a plus-one.” She’s holding the invitation. It’s on lilac paper. Her voice is steady but there’s a pit in Jess’s stomach. Trish hasn’t seen these people for a long time, and there’s a good reason for that.

“You want to go?” Jess says. “Fuck them. You’re doing awesomely and they all suck.”

“It would be the polite thing to do,” Trish says. She sounds... resigned.  _God_.

Which is how Jess ends up volunteering herself as Trish’s date. These people remember her as Trish’s wayward, reluctant schoolmate; they also remember that she takes no shit and won’t let Trish take it either. Seems like she could be useful around a group of people who used to help make her life hell.

What it doesn’t explain, not really, is what happens next.

 

-

 

The wedding sucks, but that’s not news. All weddings suck, and this one is full of people that Jess would hate even if they weren’t at a wedding. Lots of almost-celebrities; lots of people who were famous a decade or more ago, or people who think they’re famous, or people who are bitter that they aren’t. Trish is one of the better-known people here, and it adds an extra layer of awful to the whole thing.

Because these people are not her friends. They weren’t her friends then, and they sure as hell aren’t now.

Also, there’s no whisky. It’s a fancy hotel with an open bar, because even if they’re not famous they are rich (or they’re pretending to be). But there’s no whisky, only white wine and shitty bottles of beer and a small menu of different cocktails... and.  _Wait_.

“This cocktail menu says you can make me a Manhattan,” Jess says to the bartender.

“Yes,” he says.

“A Manhattan,” Jess says, slowly, like an asshole, “ _has whisky in it_.”

“This whisky is only for the cocktails, ma’am.”

_Ma’am_. Well, that’s a kick in the teeth. Jess gives up and orders two vodka martinis, pops one of the little sticks of olives in her mouth, and carries the drinks over to where Trish is holding court with a bunch of semi-strangers. “Move,” she says to them, and collapses into the chair next to her.

Trish isn’t drinking, which is wise, and means all the more for Jess. She takes a big sip of her first cocktail and glares at the people she doesn’t know and doesn’t like, who have mostly stopped talking. “What,” she says.

One of the men at the table smirks a bit and leans forward. “We’ve just been catching up,” he says, as if it’s a secret.

“Have you,” Jess says. “Trish, do you want some of these alcoholic olives?”

“I was just asking Trish if she’s seeing anybody at the moment,” the man says. 

“Chris,” Trish says, in her tone that means shut up.

He doesn’t heed the warning. “Since we’re at a wedding, and since nobody likes to be alone, and I thought if she wasn’t...”

“She’s not alone,” Jess says, and she bares her teeth. “She’s got me. And my alcoholic olives.” She pushes the drink towards Trish, and Trish does not react to it.

“Yes, I can see that...” the man says, in a tone that says that he clearly doesn’t.

And the next thing Jess knows, she’s kissing Trish.

 

-

 

Trish only takes a second to join in, but Jess is already half-pulling away, an alarm going off in her head. But Trish drags her back in, one hand on the nape of her neck, and the other finding its way into her jacket pocket.  _Shit_ , Jess thinks. Trish’s hand slowly strokes her hair, and her mouth is very soft, and Jess wants to  _die_.

Trish tastes clean and sweet, like mineral water with fruit juice in. Jess supposes she probably tastes like vodka and salty olives, but Trish doesn’t seem to mind.  _Trish is a great actress_ , Jess thinks, fervently.

Objectively she knows that it’s not like the kiss lasted that long. But to Jess, it seems like a lifetime. And when she pulls away and looks over at Chris, his mouth is slightly agape. She feels weird, and proud. Like she changed the world. 

“I hope that clears everything up for you,” Trish says, in an amused tone. Jess can’t add anything because it feels like Trish has stolen all of her words.

Trish leans over and takes the olives from Jess’s second martini.

The next day, the news that Jess and Trish are dating makes page five of the Daily Bugle, and Ginny’s wedding isn’t even mentioned.

 

-

 

When she's read the paper that Trish waved under her face, Jess doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry?” she says.

“Don’t be,” Trish says.

“Trish,” Jess says, against her better judgement, because Jessica Jones makes bad decisions. “If you ever need a fake date for a wedding to piss off these losers? Just make sure there’s an open bar and I’m there.”

Trish frowns for a second and folds up the paper. Jess isn’t sure what she said. 

 

-

 

So it’s not like they do much to keep up the charade between weddings. But Trish is already basically the only person Jess socialises with. It’s not like they need to do much different in order for people to sometimes notice them and jump to the wrong conclusions.

Downing shots in the bar on the corner of their block, getting coffee at Jess’s favourite coffee shop (it’s quick and extremely untalkative). Sometimes Trish even drags Jess to the theatre.

Once, on what Jess can only assume is a slow news week, there’s an annoying paparazzo waving a camera in their faces as they’re trying to walk to the subway. “What is your damage?” Jess says, balling up a fist in her jacket pocket.

 She’s ready to swing at the guy already, and then he yells at Trish to “Kiss her already and I’ll leave!”

Trish doesn’t kiss her. But she leans over and takes Jess’s hand. It’s a smart move, because it means Jess can’t punch him without tearing herself away. Trish bats her eyelashes and then threatens him with a lawsuit for harassment, all in the same breath. But even when he’s gone, she keeps hold of Jess’s hand until they reach the station.

 

-

 

The next wedding does not have an open bar, but Jess goes anyway. She has a hipflask tucked inside her jacket. It’s smaller, more low-key, and Trish makes her dance with her to three songs in a row. It’s all Jess can do to avoid standing on her feet.

“I think everyone gets the idea,” Jess hisses at Trish, after the second song, and she tries to make a move towards the buffet and chairs.

Trish pulls her back in and whispers, “Stay.” Her breathing is so close that it tickles against Jess’s ear.

Jess doesn’t know why, but she does. When she pulls away at the end of the song, Trish lets her go. 

It’s a family wedding, and from the buffet table, Jess can see Trish’s mother, hiding. Watching. She bristles, preparing herself for a confrontation. But she doesn’t come over. 

She guesses she must have seen them dancing.

 

-

 

The third wedding is the final straw. This is one that Jess was invited to, not Trish,  _go figure_ , and there’s no earthly reason for why they should continue the charade. But Trish finds the invitation stuffed down the back of the couch, and she says, “Plus one?” and Jess finds herself saying  _yep, sure_ , like she’s a person who goes to weddings of her own free will instead of only under duress.

It’s all Trish’s fault. Actually, it’s Jess’s fault, because sometimes she finds herself just thinking back to that one, shocking, perfect kiss. 

Jess realises two days before the wedding, which is in  _California_ , that she should probably have booked them a hotel room. Luckily, when she goes online there’s still one left. Great. She books it fast before she can consider the crazy amount of money she’s spending to fly across the country in order to continue to  _not_ -date her best friend.

 

-

 

Of course, it’s only when they check into the hotel that Jess realises how much she’s fucked this up, and they’re not even at the wedding yet. “Um,” Jess says.

“It’s very cosy,” Trish says, and she throws open the drapes and the windows to try and get some air into the room.

It is a small room. Jess guesses that this is what they meant by  _boutique_. And also, when she selected “sleeps 2″ she should really have checked...

“I thought I was booking a twin room,” Jess blurts out. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

Places Jess has slept include: multiple rooftops, an elevator (while standing up), the subway, many greyhound buses, a garden shed, a dumpster ( _once_ ), her favourite dive bar from the ages of 21-23, and every cinema she’s ever set foot in. Jess is a light sleeper but she can sleep anywhere. The carpet in here is fluffy and there are lots of towels and blankets. She will obviously just sleep on the floor. It’s going to be fine.

Trish grins and looks at her over her sunglasses. She looks radiant in the California light -- but Jess thinks, no, it’s all Trish. She looks like this in New York, she looks like this on the subway, she looks like this on next-to-no sleep in this small hotel room, covered in New York grime and plane sweat. “Don’t be silly,” she says. “We don’t want to give the game away.”

 

-

 

The wedding itself is really not that exciting. Jess does her best to avoid Jeri, which isn’t that hard because Jeri’s just got married and Jess is a nobody at her surprisingly fancy wedding.

The reception is pretty, big, and full of terrifyingly beautiful lesbians. Jess doesn’t scare easy, but these women are all so... together. They know themselves, they all know each other... it’s like she’s crashed a club that she doesn’t belong to.

Also, open bar. Jackpot. Lots of whisky this time, but Jess gets two vodka martinis for nostalgia’s sake. This time Trish takes one of them, and they lean against the bar and observe the crowd.

“There’s no way we’re fooling these people,” Jess says, with a critical eye. In a way it feels like a relief. Trish looks at her, sidelong, and licks the salted rim of her glass.

“Hmm,” Trish says.

She dances with a lot of different women at the reception, all of them gorgeous. 

But she also keeps coming to find Jess, and she pulls her back onto the dancefloor from whatever funk or stupor Jess is trying to sink into. “This is your party,” Trish says to her, at one point. Which makes no sense; it’s Jeri’s party. But Jess lets herself be dragged along, and if she finds herself having a good time, she doesn’t worry about it too much.

 

-

 

They get back to the hotel  _late_. Jess groans when they stumble through the door and she sees the bed: the lone double bed. 

Trish has a shower, because of course she does. Jess gets ready for bed by taking off her jacket and jeans. She curls up in a corner of the room under a blanket and almost immediately starts to fall asleep.

“What are you doing?” Trish says. Jess snaps awake, and looks up at Trish, who is looming over her in a bright pink hotel bathrobe.

“Not sleeping, apparently,” Jess says. 

“You’re sleeping on the floor,” Trish says.

“I’m  _not sleeping_ ,” Jess says, in her best asshole voice. “I think we just established that, very clearly.”

“Jess,” Trish says, and she turns away, like she can’t bring herself to look at Jess any longer. “Get in the fucking bed.”

Jess gets in the fucking bed.

 

-

 

Trish changes into some extremely pretty pajamas -- they’re pale yellow and Jess feels like if she wore something like that, everybody would constantly be asking her invasive questions about the state of her health, but on Trish they look great. 

Jess curls up on her side, leaving as much room for Trish as possible. It’s not like they’ve never shared a bed before -- they have, lots of times. But usually Jess was drunker than this and she just fell asleep without meaning to, and Trish took pity on her and let her stay. Or they were teenagers, comforting each other. Or...

It had never happened while they were... pretending to date before. It had been a long time. Jess has never slept in the same bed as Trish after kissing her before.

Not that they kissed today. But -- that one kiss that she keeps remembering, all those months ago. But today they danced and laughed and, OK, Jess is pretty sure that they actually fooled everybody at the wedding, even if Trish did dance with a lot of cute women and get the number of the drummer in the wedding band.

Trish is on the other side of the bed and Jess is trying her best not to think about how close they are. She's trying not to think about Trish's hair, slightly damp with sweat from all the dancing, and the way she'd looked at Jess, head to one side, as she was goading her into the last dance of the night. Tries not to think about Trish's arms, and how beautiful she'd looked, dancing with the drummer. Jess hadn't been able to take her eyes off them, even from the other side of the room.

And that was when Trish had come to find her.

Jess realises after lying awake for ten, twenty, thirty minutes in the silent, dark room that she can’t sleep. “Fuck,” she says, under her breath. She considers getting up and going back to the corner -- she liked her corner, she was comfortable in her corner. But she thinks that maybe Trish isn’t asleep either. She turns her head back to look, and finds that Trish is just... looking at her.

Jess yelps. 

“Jess...” Trish says.

“I think you should just let me sleep on the floor,” Jess says.

“Is that really what you want?” Trish says. She sounds tired. 

“I don’t know if I can sleep here,” Jess says, and it’s stupid because Jess can sleep anywhere. Just... not in this bed. It’s too comfortable, too fluffy, and warm, and...

“Well, neither can I,” Trish says. “Let’s talk about it.”

“ _You_ talk about it,” Jess says, with murder in her voice. “Let’s _not_ talk about it.”

“Fine,” Trish says, and they lapse back into silence.

After a few minutes, Jess shifts, like she’s about to get up. But Trish rolls over and grabs her arm. “Stay,” she says, like it’s that easy. 

Jess laughs.

“I thought it went well today,” Trish says, like she’s ignoring Jess’s great idea that they _shouldn’t_ talk about it. She starts counting on her fingers. “Nobody said anything horrible to us or took our photo, Jeri did a passable impression of a reasonable human, you’re basically sober and you let me dance with you five different times.”

“Trish,” Jess says, miserably. “I don’t think we should keep doing this.”

“Is that really what you want?” Trish says, again. It’s maddening. Jess flips over so that they’re facing each other, finally, and she growls at her. Usually Trish is the person she tries so hard to be good for, but right now -- she's baring her teeth, she's angry, she's _done_.

“No, it’s not what I fucking want,” she says, and she realises as she says it what she means, and what it is that she wants, and oh, oh shit --

“Good,” Trish says, and she folds herself into Jess, wraps her arms around her, and then she’s doing the thing where she’s stroking her hair again -- Jess knows she needs to wash it, but Trish doesn’t seem to care. 

And then they’re kissing, and Trish tastes the same as before, only this time Jess isn’t terrified in the same way, and nobody’s watching them, and there’s no reason for them to be doing this except they want to.

Trish pulls back and looks at Jess. Jess squirms under her gaze and tried to pull back. “No,” Trish says.

“You’re the scariest person I’ve ever met,” Jess says, honestly. “Uh. I meant that in a good way.” The anger has gone. Jess guesses it probably wasn't anger at all, but something else. _Duh_. 

“You know that none of this was fake, right?” Trish says. “Like, I didn’t want to scare you away, but this was our third wedding date, and at this point I feel like we should really be on the same page.”

“What?” Jessica says.

“Jess,” Trish says. “We’ve been dating for ten months now. We live together. Can I kiss you again, please?”

“Uh,” Jessica says. She rubs the back of her knuckles against Trish’s arm, which is covered in goosepimples. Then she looks up at her again. “I don’t know what to say to that. I’m -- wow, I’m a lousy detective.”

“Or you could kiss me, if you’re into that,” Trish says. And Jess is, so she does.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for a tumblr meme, after a nonnie sent me a prompt for these two fake dating. thanks friend, hope it's what you wanted!
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [here](https://alwaysalreadyangry.tumblr.com/) for yelling/further prompting. be gentle.


End file.
